


Blinding

by canistakahari



Category: Star Trek (2009)
Genre: Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-04
Updated: 2012-10-04
Packaged: 2017-11-15 14:51:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 409
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/528466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/canistakahari/pseuds/canistakahari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Occasionally, Jim is still just utterly struck dumb by Bones.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blinding

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> I wrote this in response to [this picture](http://img.photobucket.com/albums/v424/canis_takahari/tumblr_kxr0e4Zk291qafqw8o1_400.png) because Aya wanted a story based on it and I am impressionable.

Sometimes Jim looks at Bones and he knows exactly what people mean when they wax stupid and poetic about looking at someone and having your heart skip a beat.   
  
It always makes a bit of an embarrassed flush rise to his cheeks, thinking something so utterly and unforgivably clichéd, but when he turns toward the door to see if Bones is ready to  _go_  already, Jesus, dude, that shirt is  _fine_ , it matches your eyes, his heart flutters in his chest and his words dry up and he’s stuck staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed like a complete idiot. He can’t help it—Bones is just so  _striking_.   
  
The light is coming in just right, throwing half his face into shadow and delineating the rest into sharp cheekbones and laugh lines, tracing the slope and dip of his upturned nose, highlighting the bright fan of incandescent eyelashes.   
  
To say that Bones doesn’t like to dress up is a little like saying Jim hasn’t broken three fingers at various (stupid) points of his life.   
  
It’s just  _wrong_. Jim has  _definitely_  busted his fingers and thus Bones will absolutely go out of his way to avoid wearing a suit and tie. Previous notable excuses included: feigning a contagious illness, deliberately starting an argument just so he could storm out of the room, and surreptitiously calling Starfleet Medical and asking his supervisor to schedule him for overtime.  
  
Jim thinks it’s criminal, because Bones wears suits  _impossibly well._  He’s managed a tie tonight, at least, though the dress shirt is rumpled and will probably successfully evade being tucked into his pants without anyone ever saying a goddamn word about it, and the sleeves are pushed up carelessly around his elbows.   
  
Not to mention the knot of his tie is pretty abysmal, hanging lopsided and wrinkled.   
  
And yet, he’s still the best looking thing Jim’s ever set eyes on.  
  
Bones blinks, squinting at his faint reflection in the window, before pushing his fingers through his hair, mussing it.   
  
“Guess I’m ready,” he mumbles. He flashes a brief look at Jim, a study in light and shadow, sloppy and reluctant and utterly fucking perfect. “What’re you looking at?”  
  
Jim graces him with a genuine smile and sweeps in for the kind of kiss that licks the sarcasm right out of Bones’s mouth. Bones  _mmphs_  irritably but melts instantly.  
  
He can’t think of replying with anything other than the truth; doesn’t care if it’s saccharine or sappy.   
  
“You.”


End file.
